On a Night in November
by gostlcards
Summary: Dean's life is finally normal, and he finally seems to have a legit opportunity at being happy. Until an intruder on a night in November changes that. Inspired by the official season 6 synopsis from the CW Upfronts. Spoilers ahead; rated for language.


Based on the official season 6 synopsis from the CW Upfronts. I'd post it, but I don't want to piss anyone off, so if you want to know, PM me or google it :D Slight spoilers ahead.

AN: This may be unpopular, as you're going to find Dean not all angsty for awhile...don't worry, it'll happen. It may not be too well received. It is, however, how I kinda see Season 6 starting off. Gimme your feedback, it's always appreciatd :D

Disclaimer: NOT MINE :) Kripke, I will love you forever for bringing these wonderful characters to life :D

* * *

When Sam had made him promise he would go off, abandon hunting and settle down with Lisa, Dean had every intention of ignoring him. In his mind, there was no possible way he could ever not be a hunter, ever not want to save people.

But that was before he saw his brother..._brothers_...pitch face forward into the deepest part of hell.

He decided he couldn't wait to get further away from it. Screw hunting, and saving people. The only thing he had ever gained from it was broken bones and scars, and bad memories. His family had been torn apart before he'd even really been given the chance to have one. He was done. Forever.

So he rolled up to Lisa's and he took a deep breath, remembering the promise he'd made to his brother. He thought about the conversation he and Castiel had shared on the way there, before he had disappeared, and wondered to himself. Cas had asked him was he supposed was meant as a rhetorical question.

_Would you rather have peace? Or freedom?_

He shut the car off and got out, closing the door quietly. There'd always be apart of him weighed down by his past, haunted by those memories. He assumed Cas was implying that he was free; he didn't agree.

To him, he really didn't have much of either.

Lisa had taken him in after that, and was as understanding as she could be in a situation where he didn't share much. He didn't want to get into the meat of it-angels, demons and Lucifer. He didn't want her to know how close it had been to hell of earth, and that he had been part of the cause. Maybe someday, he thought, when they were old and gray together, if that happened. But not now.

It was slow going though. He wasn't really made for this life; he was easily startled, and that, coupled with his keen hunter instincts led to many tense moments, leading to broken dishes and Dean ready to pounce. While Lisa seemed uneasy, she also knew and understood how adjusting would be so she took it in stride. Besides, she would joke. At least now we have our own personal watchdog.

She wouldn't let him sleep with a gun under his pillow. So he compromised and got her to let him leave a sawed off shotgun by the bed.

He started going to Ben's baseball games. It was awkward at first, as again, he was not used to this lifestyle. He found it somewhat trivial, to have these grown men yelling at their kids, acting like winning a little league game was the most important part of their lives and he was dumbstruck when he realized in suburbia, it really was. Bragging rights seemed to be key. So when Ben pitched a no-hitter a few weeks into his assimilation, he grinned, winked at Lisa and offered to buy the team a round of ice cream. Bragging rights for a little league game instead of a dead monster became much more appealing.

He barbecued for the 4th of July, and they had a bunch of the neighborhood family's over. Or, more accurately, he_ tried_ to barbecue; but the men of the other families were kinder than he expected, and had helped him subtley, giving him directions and tips without having to ask and he appreciated it though his cheeks burned. He was sure he had heard someone talking earlier though, about him.

"Yeah, apparently he's had it pretty hard...his brother died or something, and he was like, the only family he had left..."

Dean had spun quickly in the oppostite direction, his hand clutching his sweaty beer, thoughts of Sam assaulting him. He made a beeline for Lisa, who greeted him with wide eyes.

"Can I talk to you?" He asked pointedly, and they had gone inside, where he had told her very calmly, but very sternly to never tell his buisness, and to never talk about his brother-saying his name was still too hard-ever again. He figured his face was angry though, because Lisa had paled and apologized before leaving him in the kitchen alone where he finished his beer before opening another.

Later in the night, after he hadn't really spoken to her anymore in the day, she had apologized again. He hadn't answered her, so she had sighed, realizing that her faux pas had sent him spiraling into one of his moods about his old life, and she'd have to wait for him to feel better before he had forgiven her.

"Do you know why, I got so mad?" He asked, surprising her. She stopped in the kitchen, which overlooked the living room. She shrugged.

"I mean, it's your personal business, and those guys are strangers, so I shouldn't have..."

"You didn't _know him_, Lisa." He interrupted, turning to her. "When I lit the grill today, and that giant flame practically exploded off the grill and almost singed my brows, do you know he would've been the first person to push me out of the way, and then he would've laughed at me for it?"

She pursed her lips, watching him as he laughed sadly and shook his head. "He would've made some smart ass remark about me being Emeril Lagasse and then insisted he take it over and never let me live it down." He sighed, looking in her eyes. "I don't want to forget him. But I promised him i'd live. That i'd be happy. I'm here because you, and Ben, and all this make me happy, but there's a big part of me thats having a hard time because he's gone. To a place that's not all rainbows and sunshine, might I add. And there's not a day that goes by, that something doesn't make me think of him, that i don't wish he could experience this too. And i'm getting there, but I need you to stop talking about him like you knew him, and mentioning him to people to explain why I am, how I am." He licked his lips. "Let me put him to rest in my mind, so I can try and be happy."

Tears had welled in her eyes during his explanation and she swallowed hard. He sighed, walking over to her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so harsh..."

She burst into tears, shaking her head. "No, it's okay, it helps me to understand better..." She sniffed. "I'm sorry about it. I won't mention him again."

"It's not like I want to forget him," He explained further. "I couldn't, even if I wanted to. But I have to learn how to live _this_ life. And thinking about him, knowing what happened to him..." He faded, his eyes concentrating on a spot behind her, his gaze far away. It was evident he had zoned out, and moments later, he shook his head, clearing the cob webs. "It's just too hard to move forward if I'm always stuck back there."

"No, no, I completely...well, I mean, I don't really, but I understand why. I'm here though, you know? Cause I know you have your days...if you need to talk about him, or anything, you know that right? I can listen?"

He smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." He cupped her face with his hands, moving closer to her. "I'm not good at this, and I'm sorry." He brushed his thumbs on the apples of her cheeks, wiping the tears cascading down her face. She laughed softly, grabbing one of his hands.

"That's alright, you'll get there." She whispered, and he kissed her softly.

And so they went on like that, and as the months passed, there were more good days then bad. He tried not to think of how bad he felt, because he was beginning to be happy. There was always something weighing him down, but after everything that had happened in that cemetary, he was determined to have some semblance of the life he felt like he had earned. Sam, and his parents, they weren't apart of it, and that sucked, but the Rolling Stones had it right; You _can't_ always get what you want.

That worked fine for a few months. September came and brought Ben's birthday, which was fun to be around for, and Dean had picked up a job at a local garage, pulling in a decent living. At least, enough to contribute, since he was living with Lisa. The months seemed to run together; baseball ended in the summer, but football started in the fall, and then it was into October and it began to get colder. Halloween happened, and Dean agreed to take Ben out for trick or treating, which Ben objected to. He was 12, he argued, much too old to have an adult go with him, but Dean was insistent. Most baddies stayed away on Halloween because of the exposure aspect, but just in case, he wanted to be there. Plus, he had never gotten to do the Dad Halloween thing, and he chalked this up as something he could do to contribute to the normal life he was supposed to be having. Certainly didn't deter him from carrying the silver switch blade and flask filled with holy water, though. Better safe than sorry.

And then it was November.

Dean hated November. For obvious reasons. Granted, one of his favorite holidays-_Thanksgiving_-was in November, and he was looking forward to having an actual Thanksgiving this year, but November 2nd was a day he couldn't ignore, but couldn't stand to remember. Lisa noticed the mood shift, but didn't push it, and offered him back rub to ease the obvious tension in his shoulders. The resulting sex afterwards cleared his mood right up. For the moment.

It was almost three in the morning when he woke up randomly, rolling over in his sleep to check on Lisa. Something had startled him awake, but she hadn't been disturbed and calling Dean a heavy sleeper would be the understatement of the year. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. _Something was wrong_.

He eased out of bed, and reached for the sawed off shotgun at his bedside, moving slowly as he slowly opened the door to the room and slipped into the hallway.

He heard a soft shuffling in the kitchen and he tensed, his muscles taut and ready to go. It seemed, even with the 6 month break, his instincts hadn't taken a hit. His mind raced; he had set up wards around the home, carved sigils and symbols into the walls of the house to keep demons and other bad guys at bay, so he couldn't understand what was possibly in his home. The only thing he could think of, he rationalized, was that it was merely a burgular. He could definitely handle that.

As he entered the living room, he could see a silouette of a larger man with his back turned to him, shuffling through what sounded like the drawers in the kitchen. He decided to duck into the hallway and go around instead of going right into the kitchen and was soon coming up behind the man, who seemed so entrenched in what he was doing that he didn't even look up.

He considered pointing the gun at his back and telling the stranger to turn around, but he decided he didn't want to speak with the man who was intruding on his privacy and his home so he turned the gun around and raised the butt of it to an angle, preparing to strike him with it at the base of his skull and render him unconscious while he called the police and had him arrested. He was no longer the man who enforced these things. There was relief in that realization.

As he moved to strike, the man turned quickly, ducking out of the way and grabbing for the gun. Dean swore. _Now_ he was going to have to fight him.

Dean immediately took the offensive, throwing a right hook that the man blocked swiftly before swerving out of the way, causing Dean to turn and follow him toward the living room. He threw another punch, and the man deflected it again, now trying to push his arms down and grab him, as if to wrestle him to the ground. Dean growled; he was having none of it. He swept his leg out, and even though the man probably had 3 or 4 inches on him, he didn't seem to have been expecting it and went down. Right on the coffee table in the living room, taking Dean with him.

He never said it was opportune.

They rolled a little bit on the ground, and he was vaguely aware of the hall light coming on as Lisa and Ben were awakened by the noise. He wasn't concentrating on it though; his concern right now was this asshole who had barged into his home and disrupted this good thing he had going.

If he had stopped to think about this at all, in the time since the man had turned to deflect the blow of the gun, he may have seen it. Might have recognized the style of fighting the man brought to the table. Might have noted how, in the scuffle, the bigger man had never really tried to land a solid punch.

Dean finally grabbed the guy by the lapels of his jacket, and rolled him over, slamming him down on his back as he weighed him down by resting his knee on his chest, effectively pining him. And although he could hear Lisa's alarmed words, it was the light of the hallway that really caught his attention. That allowed him to get a look at the intruder for the first time.

The man was looking up at him, eyebrows raised in ambivalence and doubt, and Dean froze as Lisa's voice seemed to become further and further away. He couldn't believe it...he _wouldn't_ believe it, because whatever it was, it couldn't be who it looked like.

He sprang back as if he had been burned and scrambled for the silverware drawer, urgency overriding his shock, and somehow had the good sense to tell Lisa and Ben to go hide in their room and lock the door, that he had to deal with this, that it was a _monster_. The man flinched as if he'd been struck, but didn't rise from the floor, where he sat perched on his forearms.

"Dean..." He began quietly.

"No. _No_. You fucking...you shut the fuck up right now. You come into my home, you disrupt my _family_, looking like_ him_? No, that is not even...i'm gonna do things to you you haven't even dreamed of in your worse nightmare." He stalked over to him, and threw a small cup of water on the man's body, expecting him to writhe in pain as his skin sizzled.

Nothing.

Dean licked his lips, mind racing._ Shapeshifter_. Had to be, had to be a shapeshifter. The man sighed, sitting up. "Give me the knife, Dean. I'll do it myself."

"Like hell you will. Arm. Now." He was breathing heavily now, mind spinning. There was no way. This couldn't be happening, because if there was even the possibility it was him, it could be him...

No. He couldn't think of it, couldn't _even_ consider it, even for a moment. He felt the blood rushing to his head, heard his heartbeat in his temples, and as the man offered his arm, he sliced it quickly.

Nothing.

He dropped the knife and stared. "It's not possible..."

"I know...I know, what you must think. But..." The other man shrugged. "But I'm here. It's me. A little worse for the wear...but me." He smiled softly, motioning toward the mess they had created. "Good to see the foray into suburbia hasn't affected your technique."

Tears burned Dean's eyes suddenly, and he stumbled backward, arm out as he reached to stabilize himself. The intruder reached out to steady him, eyebrows crinkled in worry and Dean took the opportunity to grab him.

"**_Sam_**." He whispered it, pain and amazement mixed altogether as he closed his eyes tightly, swallowing hard. His hands grabbed the fabric of his jacket, pulling his brother's shirt a little too tightly, but he needed to hold onto him for just a few moments to steady himself and the myriad of emotions that were assaulting him at the moment. When he pulled back, he sighed, running his hand through his hair. "How...?"

"It's a long story, and I'm still not quite sure myself, but the important part is I'm out."

"Why break in? Why not just come to me? Or call me?" Dean asked, swallowing hard. "I mean, is it so hard to knock on the door at a decent hour?"

"At a decent hour? Listen to you, all domesticated..." Sam replied quickly, a quirky smile on his face as he obviously sidestepped the question.

Dean glared at him for only a moment, but then he laughed. "I've never been so happy to hear your smart ass remarks in my life."

Sam smiled back at him. "In all seriousness, I am sorry about the mess." He shifted suddenly, his persona changing. He looked away from Dean, as if he were hiding something or preparing to lie. Dean stiffened. "I didn't expect you to get up. I didn't mean to wake you up." He muttered softly. Dean's head snapped up.

"You weren't going to tell me you were here?" He asked, the realization cutting deeper than he would've expected. Another thought hit him. "How long have you been out?"

Sam looked at him, eyebrows again furrowing in confusion. "What do you mean? Why does it matter?"

"Sam..." He began, his tone warning his brother not to lie to him.

His younger brother sighed. "2...3 months, I guess. Dean, look..."

Dean wasn't having it though. He backed up, away from him, his eyes narrowed now. Hurt be damned; he was fucking pissed. "Wait, wait, wait. You've been out and about, for 3 months now, and you didn't have the decency to pick up a god damned phone or something and let me know you weren't rotting in hell with Lucifer? What the hell, Sam?"

"I came by, and checked on you when I got out...I saw you, and Ben, and Lisa eating dinner, and you guys...you guys looked happy. I didn't want to..." He shrugged trailing off.

"And if I wouldn't have caught you tonight? I mean, what was this?"

Sam shrugged again. "I'm still hunting. And I was passing by, and figured I'd swing in and check on you. See how things were going. I admit, breaking in while you were home was risky, but its not like I hadn't done it before, and God knows it usually takes a freight train to wake you up..."

"You've broken in here before?" Dean asked, dumbstruck. "Seriously. What the hell, Sam?" He was unable to keep the hurt from his tone and Sam had the good sense to look ashamed.

"I'm sorry." He replied. "I just...I didn't think me being around would jive with you being happy. It's not like there's a happy medium between the lifestyles here, Dean."

"Have you talked to Bobby at all?"

Sam shook his head, and Dean huffed, spinning around with his hands on his head. "Wow, you're such a piece of work..."

"If it means anything, I'm happy you did catch me. I guess i've just been too afraid to mess something up. Afraid..." He sighed, with a swallow. Dean looked at him expectantly. "Afraid you were happy, and that you wouldn't want me around to mess that up. It's not like I'm baggage free, Dean."

Dean stared at him, a thoughtful look on his face as he shifted from one foot to the other, carefully contemplating his next words. He decided not to mince words, and not worry about being tough or macho, or to soften the moment with a stupid joke, because this was _Sam_, and he was back from the dead...again, when he had never expected it, and it was just too important to mess it up. He took a deep breath and faced him squarely.

"Okay, look, I'm not gonna say this ever again, because you know I hate sharing and caring, but kid, I don't give a crap what kind of baggage you have. No matter how pissed I am at you, I will never not want you around. That whole thing that happened last year, when we seperated for a few weeks, that was crap. And this,_ this_ was crap. I want you around me. And if this takes for good, I want you to know the people in my life, and I want them to know you. I mean, fuck Sammy...if we've learned anything from this, it should be life's too short, right?" He shook his head with a sigh, ignoring the shine that had sprung to his brothers eyes. "Ah, shit...I'm not gonna be able to get back to bed. How about we uh...crack a few and catch up a little? Maybe go for a drive? It's a clear night out..."

Sam smiled back. "Yeah. Yeah, it is...let's do it."

"Okay then. Can you grab the beers? I need to go talk to Lise and let her know some epic shit has gone down. And tell her we're not being attacked by zombies."

Sam laughed at that. "Yeah. That sounds like a plan. Meet you outside?"

"Yep." He moved toward his room, preparing to explain the very convoluted situation to a probably very pissed off lady. "Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't go anywhere 'til I get out there, okay?" Dean looked back at him as he rounded the corner. Sam smiled softly.

"I won't. Take your time though, if you need. I can wait."

Dean nodded, then turned again, knocking on the bedroom door. "Lise? It's just me, it's okay, everythings okay, it wasn't a monster or anything bad."

The door swung open and his heart immediately clenched as he saw her tear-stained face, eyes red from the fear. "Then what the hell was it?"

Dean opened his mouth, deciding on the words to use, to explain, and he couldn't help the smile that made it's way to his lips. "It's...my brother."

_Damn_. It felt good to say that again.

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:D I may continue, I may not, but for now, its a stand alone. I'm leaning toward adding a few chapters tho, or additional one shots as sister stories. Who knows, I'll figure it out :D Hope you liked.


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